


we're all broken pieces (but somehow we fit together)

by girl0nfire



Series: this is our family [2]
Category: Marvel
Genre: Dasha Romanova-Barnes, F/M, Gen, of course Sitwell would be the one to figure it out first
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-22
Updated: 2012-09-22
Packaged: 2017-11-14 19:11:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/518570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girl0nfire/pseuds/girl0nfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James and Natasha care for the small child they've rescued, but refuse to let themselves believe that she could be theirs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we're all broken pieces (but somehow we fit together)

**Author's Note:**

> There's an extended reference here to [this drabble](http://archiveofourown.org/works/515821), you'll want to read it first.

James’ eyes ache with exhaustion, but he can’t tear his gaze away from the glowing-orange holographic displays surrounding him. He types a series of commands into the keyboard on the desk in front of him and presses enter; all the screens disappear save one, floating directly in front of him.

It’s an out-of-focus photograph of a dark-haired woman with kind, bright blue eyes.

Mirela Pavenic.

He’d watched her die today.

Resting his elbows on the desk, James cradles his head in his hands, grinding his palms against his eyelids until he sees stars pop silver-white in the darkness. He hasn’t left the helicarrier since their extraction, and he’d switched from black coffee to whiskey about an hour ago. And he isn’t leaving until he's figured out how to fix this.

Natasha had left with the infant hours ago; Sitwell had insisted she leave the child, but when the poor girl hadn’t stopped crying he’d cowed and let Natasha take her home “just for the night”. James had kissed Natasha on the cheek and promised that he’d be along soon, that he just had a brief to finish…

And that’s how he ended up here. Searching through every one of SHIELD’s available databases, trying to find something of that tiny girl’s family. Her mother hadn’t deserved an end like that; few do. And for a small child to be ripped from their family so young?  
No. He’s going to find them. He’s going to make this right.

But Mirela had no family, no husband; the poor young woman had been all alone in the world. There wasn’t even a record of the child’s birth. No birth certificate, no hospital files. James wonders if she had perhaps been born in the very warehouse where they’d found them both.

“You should go home, Barnes.”

The grave voice of Agent Sitwell startles James out of his thoughts. He raises his head sluggishly to look over his shoulder at his handler. “I can’t, Jasper. I have to find her family.”

“You’re not doing anyone any good staying here all night, James. Go home. We can all look at it with a fresh pair of eyes in the morning.” Sitwell crosses the room, putting a hesitant hand on James’ shoulder. “ _Go home_.”

After a moment, James nods, pushing himself up heavily with the edge of the desk. “Let me know if you hear anything?”

“You’ll be my first call.”

+

Natasha checks the glowing hands of the clock on the nightstand. 3AM.

She doesn’t dare move, doesn’t dare breathe too deeply lest she disturb the sleeping baby nestled against her chest. Natasha wonders where James is, if he’s managed to tear himself away from the holograms and his guilt yet, or if he’ll be gone until morning.

Stroking the tiny girl’s golden hair, Natasha hums softly into the darkness, little bits of lullabies and poems, songs she recalls across decades and melodies that have just come to her. She watches the slats of moonlight stripe across the blankets and illuminate the soft pink of the child’s cheeks and wishes that she wasn’t who she was.

That she wasn’t the woman who saved this child just to give her up.

+

By the time he arrives home, James is beyond exhaustion. He drops his keys on the small table near their front door; usually he’d leave his sidearm there, too, but with a child in the house he takes the extra time to turn the safety on and lock it in the safe behind the picture frame in the living room.

Shedding his clothes as he pads toward the bedroom, the sight that greets him startles him out of his stupor, and he drops his vest and shirt in the doorway.

Natasha is curled on her side, facing him, her body wrapped fluidly around the small girl, only her blonde hair and sweet face visible above the blanket that’s pulled up to her chin. James’ heart twists, and the bright hope he’d spent the evening trying his best to drown lights again, pushing against his ribs and pulsing as he takes in Natasha’s hand, resting gently on the child’s back.

Quietly, he sheds the rest of his uniform and tosses it carelessly onto the floor. He slides gently onto his side of the bed, careful not to disturb the slumbering occupants. After a moment of internal struggle, he gives in and curls onto his side, facing Natasha. He laces his fingers with hers over the child’s back; closing his eyes, he lets the familiar dream of their family carry him into a heavy, restless sleep.

+

Natasha starts awake from her second nightmare of the evening to see James’ face on the pillow next to hers. She twists to check the clock again; 6:30AM.

She should wake up, she should already be up and moving and making coffee and going for her run and…

But gazing down at the peacefully sleeping child cradled in their arms, the silver of James’ forearm glinting in the still-rising sun as his hand curls around the tiny girl’s back, Natasha can’t quite tear herself away. She wriggles closer, throwing one leg over James’ knees and closing her eyes again.

This morning, for once, everything else could wait.

+

“Barnes.”

James coughs, tries to get his voice to sound less sleep-rough and irritated. He checks the clock on the nightstand; it’s nearly ten.

Sitwell sounds exasperated. “Where _are_ you two? We’ve got a specialist from New York Child Protective Services headed for HQ in an hour. I need you and Natasha here, _with_ the girl, _now_.”

Looking over at the still-sleeping bundle of blonde and scarlet fanned out next to him, James coughs again. Buying time.

“Jasper, you’ve read my file. You of all people should _know_ how I feel about foster care. I’m not handing over an infant so she can get lost in the system. Nice try, but unless you can come up with a better alternative, consider this my notice that I’ll be taking a few days leave. Tasha, too.”

Agent Sitwell sighs heavily on the other end of the line. James can imagine him squiting his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose as he continues, “Fine, Barnes. But know that I’m not going to tolerate this for long. The minute we find a family for her, she’s gone. Out of our sight. I need you two focusing on other things right now.   
Like that A.I.D. cell that’s still missing, along with a couple million dollars of A.I.M. nuclear tech.”

“Fine.” James doesn’t wait for Sitwell’s response before he hangs up, placing the comm device back on the nightstand, near the clock. 10:04AM.

He reaches a hand out to stroke along Natasha’s cheek. She stirs, and even half-asleep she manages to avoid upsetting the child cradled between them as she stretches.

She blinks, the fully-risen sun catching in the sea green of her eyes as she smiles. 

“Good morning, James.”

+

"She needs a name."

Natasha speaks up from her seat at the kitchen table the next morning, in between sips of her coffee. The small girl is balanced on her lap, her blond curls barely visible above the lip of the table. She's gurgling happily after her own breakfast, her eyelids growing heavy as she leans her head against Natasha's stomach.

James turns to look a them over his shoulder, wooden spoon hovering over the pan of eggs he's scrambling. "What?"

Rocking the child slightly, Natasha repeats herself. "She needs a name, James. She's nearly six months old, and with no record of her previous life..." She trails off, stilling her movements when she hears a soft snore from the child. "I... I think we should give her a name."

Without hesitation, James speaks up, having already turned back to the stove. "Dasha."

His quick reponse piques Natasha's curiosity, and she can't help herself. She rises from her chair, bringing the sleeping child to her chest, and crosses their tiny kitchen to stand beside him.

"Why?"

James lifts the skillet off the flame, settling it on the counter with a muffled thud before he shuts off the gas. He turns to face Natasha, bringing his hand up to rest gently on the child's head, her hair curling around his fingers, silver and gold.

"Back... before, Steve and I used to go to the movies all the time. One of our favorites was the Wizard of Oz; he used to give me lip about having a crush on Judy Garland, but... it was the story. It was one of the few good memories I kept; one of the few things I held on to after I fell.” He stops, and Natasha watches the now-familiar shadows play across his face before he continues. “I was always able to think of Dorothy and how hard she worked to get home, how hard she worked to help her friends.” 

He pauses again, the shadows clearing. “But Dorothy's a silly-sounding name, too old-fashioned. _Dasha_ is..."

He cuts off with a dip of his head, hoping Natasha understands how he wants to honor their past without having to bring it up. He gazes at his hand as his fingers comb softly though the girls' hair, and repeats the name, testing the feel of it in his mouth.

"Dasha."

Natasha hasn't shifted her gaze from his face, her eyes following the multitude of emotions flashing across his features. After a moment, she breaks their silence. 

"I like it. The little girl who traveled so far just to get home. It's perfect."

James' hand stills, and he looks up to catch Natasha's eye. "I think so. We'll have to make sure that the adoptive parents SHIELD finds don't change it."

He slips his hand off of Dasha's head, returning to the now-cold eggs on the counter. The spell of the moment is broken; Natasha can't help but feel like the room has suddenly cooled.

"You're right." She turns to leave, the still-sleeping child suddenly heavy in her arms. As she crosses the doorway to the living room, James calls after her.

"We have to try and stay objective about this, Natasha. She deserves so much more that we can give her. We can't make this harder than it needs to be."  
Biting her lip, Natasha nods slowly as she replies. Her voice is thin, but it doesn't shake. 

"Of course."

With her back turned, she can't see the answering slump of James' shoulders.

+

Dasha takes to them completely and unconditionally, trusting them in the way only a child can. They spend their days with her, figuring out how to keep her safe and fed, figuring out how to care for her in ways that they are both unfamiliar with, and it's easy and miraculous and _terrifying_. She can't bear to be parted from either of them; if one of them has to leave the house, leave the _room_ , the other has to hold her, reassure her, and it's exhausting and incredible.

During their week of leave, Sitwell brings three families by to meet Dasha, each one more put-off than the last when the child seemingly refuses to tolerate them.  
James watches the most recent set of parents attempt to calm the screaming child with something like pride blooming in his gut. She’s not easy to please; he likes that. It reminds him of Natasha.

He catches Natasha’s gaze from where she's stationed on the other side of the room and breaks into a smug little half-smile that she returns easily. Sitwell is glaring daggers at both of them, and once the two potential parents have begged off with a hurried "let us think about it", he rounds on them.

"Are you two _planning_ this? How have you managed to scare off three sets of fully-vetted potential adoptive parents without so much as a _word_?”

James shrugs, “Just talented?”

Sitwell frowns, looking rapidly between them and searching their faces for guilt, but when he finds none, he takes a different tack.

"Listen, I think you two are getting too close. Director Fury wants you both to take a job this week, get back out in the field. You both need to get your heads back in the game. Barnes, you’re with me, we’re in the air from HQ at 2200. I’ll have the sitrep sent to your comm before then.”

Turning to leave, Agent Sitwell stops in the doorway. 

“Natasha, Fury has a mark for you, too. He wants you in Madrid by the weekend.”

With a frustrated wave of his hand, he’s gone. Natasha turns to look at James, Dasha sleeping soundly in his arms, perfectly calm now.

“What are we going to do?”

+

Six days later, and Agent Sitwell saunters into the debrief room, a smug look on his face and a soundly-sleeping Dasha strapped into a baby carrier on his chest. Her chubby limbs sway with his steps, and if he wasn’t so exhausted, James would laugh.

“Welcome back, Sitwell. Get bored with the afterlife already?” James re-crosses his ankles on the table and his chair squeaks with the movement. “I figured you needed a vacation.”

Jasper nods, circling the large conference table to face him. “Where’s Natasha?”

“Showering. She just got in from Madrid. And let me tell you, she’s _not_ happy.” 

Dasha lets out a soft snore, and Sitwell watches the worry lines in the other man’s forehead soften as his eyes rove over the slumbering child. James reaches a tentative hand up to push a few blonde curls away from her face.

“I can’t believe that Fury put you and Coulson on baby duty.”

Jasper lets out a chuckle. “ _I_ still don’t believe it, and I was _there_.” 

James’ hand falls away, and swinging his legs off the table, he straightens up in his chair. He laces his fingers tightly together on the shiny wooden surface of the conference table and turns his face away from his handler.

They’re both still silent when Natasha walks in a few minutes later, her hair still damp. She crosses the room hurriedly, leaning over to place a kiss on James’ cheek before settling in the seat beside him and casting an unreadable look at Agent Sitwell.

He coughs, lowering himself into the chair on James’ other side. He leans back a bit to accommodate the sleeping child, and clears his throat again, buying time to come up with the words.

“I want you two to know that you are some of the best operatives that I’ve had the pleasure of working with.”

James and Natasha shift in their chairs, angling toward him without facing him fully. Natasha’s expression is still unreadable, her green eyes fixed on Jasper’s face.

“And I hope that you’ve had some time to think during your missions these past few days.”

At this, Natasha snorts derisively, her eyes finally falling away, and James lets out a matching snort of his own. His voice is low as he speaks. “Cut the crap, Sitwell. We all know you wouldn’t have brought Dasha here if you didn’t have something to say about her.”

At James’ mention of her name, the child wriggles in her sleep, her tiny fists clenching and unclenching as she tries to adjust her position in the sling. A sweet, high-pitched sigh escapes her.

“I’ve consulted with Director Fury, and with Agent Coulson, and I think that we have reached the appropriate time to make a final decision regarding the formal and lasting custody of the child.”

Agent Sitwell watches both of them tense, turning to face him with identical looks and he takes a moment to appreciate their synchronicity. 

They really are a perfect team. 

“It is the opinion of SHIELD that both of you have become attached to the child.”

James interrupts him first, face calm but his voice nearly a growl. “Her _name_ is Dasha, Sitwell.”

Clearing his throat again, Jasper continues, drawing on all his training to remain unfazed. 

“It is also the opinion of the agency that given that you, Agent Barnes, are currently legally deceased, it would be impossible to place the child in your continued custody.”

This time, Natasha beats James to punch, nearly literally, if the murderous look in his eyes is any indication. From behind him, she places a softly reassuring hand on his shoulder, a reflected violence in her own eyes.

“What are you _talking about_ , Sitwell? It’s SHIELD’s fault that you can’t find a good family for her… and now you’re going to just _take her_ from us? Where will she go? Who’s going to care for her?”

Agent Sitwell can probably count on one hand the amount of times he’s heard the weight of emotion in Natasha’s voice; her usual tone is so formal, so modulated, that any hint of feeling rings clear as a bell.

“If you’ll allow me to continue, Agent Romanov.”

Natasha’s eyes do not waver from his face, and he watches her hand rest a bit more heavily on James’ shoulder as he brings an answering one up to clasp it. Again, their faces slide into two identical, schooled looks of attention, and it’s only Sitwell’s years of experience with them that reveal the anger and hurt roiling just beneath the surface.

In the split-second of silence, Dasha _hmms_ gently in her sleep again, and all three pairs of eyes drift to her for a moment.

Finally, Agent Sitwell continues.

“Therefore, in the current absence of any adoptive family acceptable to all parties, SHIELD has decided that you, Agent Romanov, should become the child’s permanent caregiver. We’ll have a full debrief at 0700 tomorrow to address the legal requirements.”

The entire room lets out a heavy breath no one had known was being held, and James twists in his chair to look at Natasha. “But, that means... if you, what happens to her if…”

Natasha silences him with a look; a guarded kind of joy glints in her eyes as places a single finger over his lips. 

“James. We’re a _team_. There is no version of this story that doesn’t have you in it. We’ll figure it out, together, I promise.”

Sitwell stands, turning to allow the two their private moment, and works on unbuckling the straps of the carrier he’s still wearing. He gently lifts the still-sleeping girl from the sling, cradling her in his arms.

Voice low, he whispers to her. “You’re a lucky kid.”


End file.
